


Hold Still, Bellamy

by eyesuphere



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: AU, Art, Art School, Bellarke, College AU, F/M, Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-20 15:44:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3655878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyesuphere/pseuds/eyesuphere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>CAN I SAY "ART SCHOOL AU"???!!!!</p><p>Because I just did.</p><p>This story is an AU for the CW's television show "The 100". The story is set at the Ark Institute of the Arts, and Clarke Griffin can't seem to avoid that Bellamy guy no matter how hard she tries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I plan on updating this fic at least once a week!

Clark sighed in exasperation, hands clenching into fists. The charcoal piece she was holding had been crushed in her moment of frustration. She knew she wasn’t supposed to yell at the models, but it was taking everything in her to not force the man back into the position she had been drawing for nearly an hour.

Not everyone in the studio had the same amount of self control. Another classmate of hers, Octavia, threw her hands into the air, startling the model. She released a frustrated groan, and looked to the ceiling. “You have _got_ to be kidding me.” Octavia moved her gaze to the model, who was confused and a little bit scared. His naked legs jumped back a step. “Every stupid angle needs to be changed because you,” she said, “decided to shift your damn weight onto your left leg.”

The man juggled his words, trying to voice a coherent sentence. Whether he did this modeling thing often or not, he clearly was not used to angry art students attacking him verbally. “My leg…got tired,” he muttered.

“You should have thought about that before you decided to stand in a lunging position!” she shouted.

The teacher, who had been away from the room, walked in with a pad of paper and a few new boxes of charcoal. We must have run low.  
“Whoa, whoa, WHOA,” he started, eyes wide and angry. “Exactly what is going on in here?”

The model stayed silent, looking down at his feet. The teacher focused his gaze on Octavia, who defiantly placed her hands on her hips.  
“He moved,” she told him plainly.

Some of the other students chuckled, but the teacher silenced them. “Do not encourage her,” he warned. Turning back to face Octavia, he said, “This model is our guest. You have no right to disrespect him. If he moves, you redraw. If he so much as dies on that platform and falls in a twisted slump, you redraw. You do not yell at our models.”

“But—"

“There are no buts. You are a student. If you continue to waste your time yelling at your subject rather than drawing him, the scholarship you have may not remain intact much longer.” He rose his eyebrows, looking at her over his small square glasses.

Octavia’s mouth set in a hard line, and her back stiffened. “I won’t do it again,” she replied quietly.

“Great.” The teacher looked at her and forced a small, fake smile. He then grabbed a robe and handed it to the model, who took it graciously. “I’m so sorry about this,” the teacher told him. “You are done for the day. Thank you.”

Clarke glanced at the clock, confused. They still had over an hour left of the studio session. How were they supposed to work on their drawings if their model was gone?

The model was just scurrying out the door when the teacher answered my question. “Octavia, I have decided that you will model for the remaining duration of the class.”

Octavia smiled, and walked over to the platform. “Nude?” she joked, winking at the teacher. He was not laughing, unlike every other student in the room.

“No, clothed is perfectly fine.” Octavia began to sit in a comfortable, yet aesthetically interesting position when the teacher objected. “Actually, Octavia,” he said, “I would prefer that you stand exactly as the model did.”

“You expect me to do a wide lunge for an hour? Are you crazy?”

“When you realize it’s not easy to keep such a position, maybe you will hesitate before reprimanding our models.”

She looked at Clarke, and Clarke gave her a supportive smile. There was no getting out of this, and she knew it. Octavia stretched her arms and legs before taking her stance, either for comedic effect or serious preparation. Her expression was determined as she settled into a deep lunge—her right light was bent, while her left was straight and stretched out behind her. She kept her hands on her hips, torso straight, chin up. Students occasionally gave her encouraging remarks and cheers, and she would just smile and wink in reply.

The minute hand slowly moved around the clock. Octavia would make small grunts or expressions that made it clear that it was getting harder to hold her stance. When it had reached the half-hour mark, Octavia finally made her discomfort known.

“Please,” she said. Her back leg shook. “Can I stop now? I think I have learned my lesson.”

The teacher walked next to her, his arms crossed. “It’s hard, isn’t it?”

“Only because lunging for an hour is insane,” she muttered.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear that.”

Octavia sighed loudly. “YES, it is very hard and I am very sorry for being a disrespectful classmate so could I please stop lunging now?”

When the teacher said she could, Octavia fell flat onto the platform. “ _God_ ,” she breathed, arms and legs extended around her.

The teacher dismissed the rest of the class early, but Clarke stayed to help Octavia to her feet. Everyone had left the room by the time she and Clarke had packed our supplies.

“That man is a lunatic,” Octavia snapped, forcefully shoving the last of her charcoal into her art case.

“Yeah, Jaha really went in on you today,” Clarke added. “Just because he’s the head of the Fine Arts department does not mean he should be able to do stuff like that.”

Octavia rolled her eyes. “Literally using my scholarship against me.” She looked at her drawing of the model, and grunted. “What an asshole.”

Clarke looked between Octavia and the drawing. “Who? The model?”

“ _No_ , Clarke. Jaha.”

Octavia rolled up her drawing. Clarke was surprised she didn’t rip it up. She was about to roll up her own drawings when Octavia stopped her.

“Holy shit, Clarke. I look amazing.” Octavia laughed at her own comment before clarifying. “I mean that your _drawing_ of me looks amazing.”

“And for a second I thought you were just being arrogant,” Clarke said sarcastically. Octavia playfully bumped her shoulder.

Suddenly, a loud and high pitched sound cut through the air. “Crap,” Octavia said, searching through her bag. She pulled out her phone and pressed it to her ear.

“Hey, Bellamy, sorry,” she said, hand pressed over her other ear. The room was completely silent, yet she felt the need to block out everything but the voice coming through the phone. It was a weird habit of hers—Clarke always teased her about it.

“Oh, it was great,” Octavia replied. She looked over at Clarke and mouthed the word “brother.”

Clarke had not known Octavia for a long time. They had only been in classes for a few weeks now at the Ark Institute for the Arts (It was more commonly referred to as Ark, but Clark liked the sound of the entire name.) Clarke’s biggest fear upon starting college was that would not get along with her roommate. It wasn’t her roommate she could’t get along with—Octavia was practically the only person she could talk to here. Clarke barely got along with anybody in her classes. During her first week, she had heard someone utter “pretentious” under the breath as she walked by. She liked to think it was just bitter rivalry, but sometimes she questioned how she came off to other people. It wasn’t like she tried to be pretentious—she participated in class, did her homework every night. Weren’t those good things?

Octavia, having just hung up her phone, broke through Clarke’s thoughts when she asked, “What are you doing tonight?”

“I was just planning on staying in,” Clarke said. She had a large, ominous pile of homework sitting on her desk back in her dorm. She was not eager to get back to it.

“Let’s go out tonight. You’ve been to—what—two parties so far?”

Clarke did not want to correct her on that number—two sounded way better none. She had been so consumed with homework these few weeks. That, and no one actually invited her.

“Those jello shots must be affecting your memory,” Clarke replied, putting a smile on her face.

Octavia laughed and nodded. “That is a very real possibility.” She and Clarke laughed, walking back to their room. It was only about a ten minute walk across campus, and it was just starting to get dark. The architecture of Ark’s campus was what really drew her to the school. The buildings were tall and gleaming, the walls constructed with sheets of metal and glass. Some of the buildings were very geometric, but others were rounded into cylinders. The fine arts building was her favorite. Sometimes, when the light hit it just right, it reminded her of a spaceship.

When they arrived at their dorm, Octavia rushed to the closet and began rummaging through the clothes. “I can’t find anything to wear,” she whined, turning to her with puppy eyes. Clarke rolled her own, and predicted what she was going to say just before it came out of her mouth. “Do you have anything I could borrow?”

“Why don’t you just go shopping?”

“I am a poor, starving college student who survives on ramen noodles.”

“Good point.”

Clarke stood up and looked in her own closet, picking through the dresses. Her mother was constantly buying her new dresses to wear, despite that Clarke rarely ever wore them.There were many things she and her mother did not agree on—fashion being one of them. Her father supported Clarke’s trends, but that was probably because it consisted of tank tops, boots, and jeans.

She picked up a formfitting, white dress. It had a low v-neck and ribbing. She turned to Octavia. “How is this?”

Octavia’s raised her hands in praise. “You are a lifesaver, Clarke.” Without warning, she stripped off her shirt and shimmied out of her jeans. In less than a second, Octavia was standing in only her bra and underwear. Boundaries do not exist in that girl’s head, Clark thought.

Octavia had just zipped up the back of the dress when she looked at Clarke over her shoulder. “Are you going to change?”

Clarke looked down at her current outfit: pale blue skinny jeans, red chucks, a black tank top. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

“I hope you’re joking.” Octavia walked over to Clarke’s closet and began sifting through the options. She grabbed a blue one, held it out and squinted before shaking her head and placing its hanger back on the rod. After doing this with a few more dresses, she finally settled on a black dress. She threw it at Clarke. “Put it on, and then I’ll do your makeup.”

Clarke caught the dress, raising an eyebrow. “I know how to do my own makeup, O.”

“Just let me have some fun,” she cried. Clarke rolled her eyes and sighed, but went into the bathroom to change. She wasn’t quite as comfortable as Octavia was about changing in front of each other.

The dress was black and strapless, and the hem just reached the middle of her thighs. Clarke took her blonde hair out its bun, letting it fall messily over her shoulders. She looked at her reflection, tilting her head to the side. Her hands went to her chest, adjusting her breasts to hold the dress up properly. Strapless bras and dresses were a pain in the ass after you have exceeded a certain cup size. After applying some lip gloss and a thin coating of mascara, she walked back into the room.

Octavia actually squealed when she saw her. “You look HOT—but is that what you call makeup?”

Clarke frowned. “It’s simple.”

“It’s boring. Here, let me show you how its done.” Octavia pushed Clark back until she was sitting on the edge of her bed and then grabbed some makeup from her desk. “Eyes, close them.” Clarke did as she was instructed, and tried not to move while Octavia began applying eyeshadow. The eyeliner was the worst part of the process; she just couldn’t stop blinking. Clarke sucked in her cheeks, tipped her chin, puckered her lips. This was a tedious process.

“Now, just put on these shoes. You can’t go wrong with Jimmy Choo,” Octavia said, handing her a pair of red heels she had found in Clarke’s closet. Clarke vaguely remembered receiving them last Christmas.

“And I think…we are done!” Octavia sat back and evaluated her work. “Damn, I’m good.”

Clarke stood in front of their full length mirror in amazement. Her lips were red, her eyes were smokey.

A minute passed before Octavia finally said, “Stop ogling yourself, we have places to be.” She grabbed her purse and a jacket, and walked to the door. “You coming?”

“Yeah, I’ll be right behind you,” she said, grabbing her own bag and a small leather jacket. Clarke took one last glance at herself before leaving the room. She could imagine how this night was going to go.


	2. Chapter 2

Clarke pushed her way through the crowded bodies, trying not to lose Octavia. “I thought we were going to a party,” she yelled over the pounding music.

“This is a party!” Octavia shouted back, shaking her hips as she did.

“This is a club, Octavia.” Clarke pushed away drunk man who had just pressed himself up against her back.

Octavia shrugged, and continued to dance as she moved through the crowd. “Yeah, same difference—oh, look at that boy over there. Wow. I’ll see you later, Clarke!”

Clarke tried to grab onto Octavia, but the girl was quick. Before she knew it, Clarke was stranded in the middle of a crowded dance floor with no one but strangers surrounding her. Rather than staying there, she opted for the bar. She was still not used to walking in these heels, and she would take any opportunity to sit. Just as she arrived at the bar, a couple left to dance and she hurriedly claimed one of the seats. She ran a hand through her hair.

“Not used to the night life?” someone asked loudly. Clarke’s head jerked up and around, unsure of who the deep voice belonged to. The bartender stood behind the bar, both his hands resting against the edge of the counter. He had a smirk on his face, and his dark eyes were crinkled at the edges. “I’m just asking, since you look a little exhausted and it’s only 9 o’clock.”

Clarke did not want to give him the satisfaction of being right. “No, I was just taking a break from dancing. I’ve been dancing for _hours_. I love clubbing.”

The bartender rose his eyebrows. “I suppose I misjudged. So, what would you like?” hd said, skating his cocktail shaker. “Screaming orgasm? Seduction on the rocks? You look like the Angel’s tit type, honestly”

Clarke almost choked. “ _Excuse me_?”

“Drinks,” he clarified. “What do you want to _drink_? Or do I need to repeat myself, princess?” He said the name with a grin, and she wanted to slap him across the face.

“Don’t call me princess,” she snapped.

He held his hands up. God, she hated that smirk. “Whatever you say, princess.”

She rolled her eyes, disgusted. Who did he think he was? His personality soiled any attraction she could have to him. His mop of hair, which was at first kind of hot, was now insanely annoying. Clarke had never seen a person with nostrils as big as his, and his freckles…Well, she couldn’t find anything bad about that. Before he could say something else, Clarke stood up. “It was not a pleasure meeting you…” She didn’t even have a name to curse him by.

“Bellamy,” he said, chuckling. “It was not nice meeting you either, Princess.”

“It’s Clarke,” she said, glaring.

“Princess works for me.” Clarke huffed and turned around, walking back towards the dance floor. She had only walked about ten feet or so before tripping in her heels. A strong pair of arms wrapped around her waist, catching her. The wind flew out of her lungs, and she looked up at a pair of brown eyes. The guy’s face was framed with shoulder length brown hair, and some strands fell in front of his eyes.

“Careful there,” he said, laughing.

“Hi,” she breathed. The guy laughed, and pulled her into a standing position. She straightened her dress, blushing.

“Hey, I’m Finn.” He smiled at her, and she smiled back.

“Clarke.”

“Could I buy you a drink or something?”

“Um…” She looked back at the bar. When she caught the eye of the bartender, he smirked and turned his head away. He must have seen the whole thing. “I think I’ve had enough of the bar tonight. Want to get some air?”

“That’s fine by me. Lead the way.” She walked through the crowd, trying to avoid as much lingering body contact as possible with the strangers surrounding her. She had just reached the door when she heard someone loudly and drunkenly call her name.

“Clarke—oh my _god_ , there you are!” Octavia stumbled into sight, tugging a tall, muscular man behind her. He had on a formfitting shirt, and tribal tattoos covered his arms. “Look, I found a Lincoln.”

“Octavia, how much did you have to drink?” Clarke asked, grabbing her by both hands.

“I dunno, like…” She tucked off the number on her fingers, looking up as she tried to recall the exact amount. “Five maybeeee. No, four or something. Yeah” She laughed, tipping toward the man named Lincoln. Clarke held onto her, pulling her back into a straight standing position.

“We’re going home,” Clarke said. “ _Without_ the boy,” she added when Octavia tried to take Lincoln along with her. 

Somehow, over the club’s music, Octavia heard her phone ringing. She clumsily grabbed it from her purse, and cursed when she saw who was calling. “It’s my brother. He can’t hear me like this.” She looked at Clarke with pleading eyes.

Clarke sighed in frustration, but took the phone and clicked answer. “This is Octavia’s phone.”

“ _Um…hi. Is my sister there?”_ The voice sounded vaguely familiar, but Clarke decided not to linger on it.

Clarke glanced over Octavia, whose hands were pressed against Lincoln’s chest. Clarke snapped her fingers at her; Octavia’s hands shot to her sides.

“She’s in the ladies room right now,” she lied. “Would you like to leave a message?”

“ _Leave a message—who the hell is this?_ ”

“This is Clarke, her roommate. What do you want to tell Octavia—“

Her brother interjected. “ _Clarke? Wait…Princess?_ ”

Clarke’s eyes widened when she heard the pet name. “ _Bellamy?_ You are Octavia’s _brother_?”

His voice sounded deep with concern when he said, “ _Are you both still in Grounders? I’m on my break, maybe I could—_ ”

“No!” she quickly squealed. “I mean, we already left. Sorry!” She motioned for Finn and Octavia to walk towards the door. Lincoln tried to follow, but Clark glared at him until he retreated.

“ _Really? Because I hear a lot of music coming through the phone, and it matches what I’m hearing from the club.”_ Clarke didn’t know how to respond. The three of them had just made it out the doors. The night air was refreshing, and Clarke breathed deeply. “It’s all in your head,” she said finally. “You’ve had a little too much to drink, I think. I’ll have her call you when she’s out of the ladies room, okay?”

Bellamy didn’t laugh. “ _I know you are hiding something. Where is—“_

_“_ Octavia!” Clarke shouted, forgetting that Bellamy was on the phone, as her friend keeled over, puking onto the sidewalk.

“ _What is going on—Clarke, tell me what is happening!”_

Clarke grabbed her friend, trying to support her. Her heels made the effort more difficult than it should have been. She kicked them off, and nodded at Finn. “Could you hold those? I think they are expensive.” He grabbed them from her as she held Octavia’s hair back as she continued to vomit.

Clarke was so distracted by this task that she didn’t notice Bellamy exit the club. His head looked from left to right, anxiously, and then his eyes focused on his little sister. “Octavia!” he shouted, running over to her, Clarke, and Finn. He slipped Octavia’s arm over his shoulder.

Octavia giggled, falling into him. “Belllllllllllameeee.” She frowned, adding, “I don’t feel good.”

His worried expression turned to one of frustration as his eyes met Clarke’s. “How many drinks did she have? Five? Ten? A thousand?”

Her eyebrows creased, and she glared at her friend’s older brother. “This is not my fault, Bellamy.”

His nostrils flared, making them even larger than they already were. “She’s eighteen— _you_ are eighteen. You shouldn’t even be allowed in this place! Who even got her these drinks? I was working the bar all night!”

“Lincoln, probably.”

His dark eyes turned to stone. “Who _the hell_ is Lincoln?” Bellamy demanded.

“Not important!” Clarke rolled her eyes, frustrated. “Can we please just focus on getting her back to Ark? Okay?”

Finn seconded that, saying, “I have a car.”

“Good. Where are you parked?” Bellamy asked. Finn pointed somewhere down the street. Bellamy lifted his sister int9o his arms and carried her to the boy’s car. When he reached the car, he gently placed in the backseat and climbed in beside her.

Finn, who must not have expected this, turned to Clarke. “He’s coming with us?” he whispered.

Apparently, he did not say it quietly enough. From the backseat, Finn and Clarke heard Bellamy say, “Did you really think I was going to let some strange guy and his even stranger girlfriend drive away with my sister?” The sarcasm was heavy in his voice.

Neither Finn or Clarke responded. She climbed into the passenger seat and Finn took in the driver’s seat. “Do you know how to get to Ark?” she asked Finn.

He laughed and nodded. “Yeah, I go there too.”

Clark’s eyes widened. “Do you really? What major?”

“Sculpture, mainly, but I do basically everything.”

Before Clarke could say anything else, Bellamy cut in. “Could you save the small talk for later? We have a drunken teenage girl draped across this back seat and I would like it if she were draped across her _bed._ ”

“Okay, we get it. Going.” Finn turned his key in the ignition, and pressed on the gas.

The car ride was the most awkward fifteen minutes Clarke had ever experienced. Whenever she wanted to break the silence, she would catch a glimpse of Bellamy in her peripheral vision and would stop herself. He would just complain some more, and she was really not in the mood for his negativity. She had known the guy for less than an hour but he had already made it to the top of her “Let’s Not Interact Ever Again” list. She couldn’t have been happier when Finn arrived at the dorm. While Bellamy was removing Octavia from the backseat, Clarke sat with her door open, one foot already out of the car.

“Thank you so much, Finn,” she said. “Really, I don’t know what we’d have done without you.”

He shrugged. “It’s no big deal. I’m glad I could help.” His eyes looked over Clarke once, and then he looked down at his hands.  “I shouldn’t keep you waiting, but…” He looked back up at her, a crooked smile on his face. “I would really like to ‘get some air’ with you sometime.”

She grinned. “That would be great.”

Finn smiled back. “Is tomorrow morning good for you?”

“Tomorrow morning is perfect.”

“Cool…yeah. I’ll meet you here? 11:30?”

Clarke nodded, finally getting out of his car, heels in hand. “Yeah, 11:30. Right here.”

“Okay,” he replied, grinning. “See you tomorrow.” Clarke shut the car door, and he drove away not too long after.

Bellamy stood by the door with Octavia fast asleep in his arms. His dark hair was a mess, and there were circles under his eyes. Clarke swiped her access card, and the dorm doors unlocked. The woman manning the security desk was asleep and snoring; normally, Clarke would be concerned about tat, but right now she was grateful she didn’t need to explain why a strange man was walking in with her unconscious roommate in his arms.

Clarke held the door open to her dorm room so Bellamy could easily carry Octavia inside. He placed her gently on her bed, resting her on her side and patting down her hair. He also removed her shoes and jacket, placing them on the floor beside her bed.

“Make sure she doesn’t lay on her back,” he told Clarke. “And…damn, where is the paper in this room?” He snatched a scrap piece of paper from Octavia’s desk and scribbled something down. “If anything else goes wrong, here is my number.”

Clarke nodded. “Got it.”

Bellamy finally stood up, and turned his gaze away from his sister. His eyes widened a little bit when he looked at Clarke, as though he had not really seen her when they were inside Grounders. He couldn’t get a good look at her in club’s dim lighting, but the dorm room was bright. His eyes looked Clarke over once, slowly, lingering on the places the dress hugged her figure. Clarke felt a rush of heat rise to her cheeks, and a tingling sensation course through her body. She cleared her throat, and Bellamy snapped out of his daze.

“Yeah, um…yeah.” He pressed a hand to the back of his neck. “Goodnight, Princess.”

Clarke pointed a toward the door. “Get out.”

He laughed, but Clarke was glaring. Leave it to him to kill the budding tolerance between them. “Make sure you have her call me in the morning.”

“I will,” Clarke assured him.

“No later than 10. I can’t be talking to her during my shift—“

“Yeah, I get it, okay. Now, please—leave.”

Bellamy rolled his eyes. “Whatever the hell you want, Princess.” Now it was Clarke’s turn to roll her eyes.

“Good _bye._ ”

When Bellamy was finally gone, Clarke shut the door and pressed her self against it, sliding down to the floor. She released a heavy sigh and ran her hands through her hair. _God_. The night’s events replayed in her mind. Bellamy had really been there for his sister. She could just imagine what Octavia would say in the morning. Clark replaced her dress with a large t-shirt, not even bothering with pajama pants, and climbed into bed. She smiled, thinking about seeing Finn in the morning. As she drifted off to sleep, though, her last thought was of a smiling, freckled boy whose nostrils were bigger than most.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry in advance for any spelling or grammatical errors. My proofreading skills are weak.
> 
> OH and BELLAMY AND CLARKE FINALLY MEET! ayy


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken so long to update! School is SUPER busy. I hope you enjoy the new chapter!

Clarke had always loved making art. Her parents had appreciated it at first, when drawing was a hobby and not a career path. They always wanted her to follow in their footsteps, but Clarke had never felt inclined toward the medical or engineering fields. As a kid, her mother would help her pick wishbones and charlie-horses from the Operation man with tweezers; her father would buy her fancy lego kits and building blocks. No matter what they put in her hands, she always seemed to pick up her crayons and doodle. Despite her parents’ efforts, Clarke had always known that she wanted to make art. When it came time to apply for colleges, her mother and father begrudgingly supported her choice to apply to Ark. Even now, her mother would slip in a line or two about transferring when talking with Clarke over the phone. “Just in case you change your mind,” her mother would say. 

Clarke couldn’t stand it. She just wished they would trust that she was not making a huge mistake—that she could succeed _without_ their help. There were many times when she reconsidered her choice to study at Ark, to transfer to that medical school her mother had been pushing for so ardently…but the idea always dissipated whenever she entered the drawing studio. She knew in her heart that this was the right choice. It had to be, right?

Clarke was on her way to the studio when her phone buzzed. She smiled when she read the text. It was from Finn.

Finn had met her about an hour ago, and the two had taken a nice morning walk around the campus. He talked, she laughed, they both sipped their coffees. He chatted away, raving about his sculpture classes and the amazing techniques he had learned. Finn made everything sound exciting, talking with his hands and bouncing as he walked. Clarke listened and nodded as though she understood anything he was talking about. She had never studied art in the third dimension, nor did she intend to. She was perfectly content with drawing and painting.

As they walked and talked, Clarke allowed herself to consider it a date. The thought made her blush, but she just shook her head and brushed it off as “the glow of exercise” when he pointed out the flush in her cheeks. The look in his eye made it clear that he knew otherwise.

It had barely been twenty minutes since she and he went their separate ways, but she was not upset to see his short “Hey” pop up on her phone. Her thumbs were ready to type back, debating between a “Hi” or a “Hello.” She was grinning stupidly at her phone when she accidentally walked into a man in front of her, also completely oblivious to his surroundings.

Clarke’s supplies had spilled all over the floor—charcoal, pencils, brushes and pastels. Immediately, she bent down to pick them up.

As she quickly collected her supplies and began shoving them into her bag, she heard the man say, “I am so sorry. Here, let me help you.” His voice was deep, and vaguely familiar. He bent down beside her, and she could hear the music blasting from his earbuds. No wonder he didn't hear her coming—you couldn’t hear a rocket ship launching with the volume that high. Her eyes focused on his strong hands as they carefully began to pick up her supplies. 

“Thank you,” she began to say, looking up, but her voice caught in her throat when her eyes connected with his. His eyes widened for a second, his eyebrows shooting up under his mop of dark curls, then his mouth turned up in a smirk.

“My pleasure, Princess,” Bellamy said, still crouched on the ground beside her.

Clarke hurriedly stood up, smoothing down her skirt and her hair. A second later, Bellamy also stood, holding several pieces of charcoal in his hands. The skin around his eyes crinkled when he grinned.

“These are yours,” he said, holding her supplies out to her. Clarke grabbed the pieces from him, shoving them into her bag.

“What are you doing here?” she snapped. There was a surprising amount of bitterness in her tone. She looked him up and down, and the question she had asked was slowly becoming clearer. “Bartender _and_ janitor? Nice career choices.”

Bellamy stood a little straighter, and he shoved his hands into the pockets of his dirty navy uniform. “ _Custodian,_ actually _._ And what does it matter to you, anyway? We aren’t all privileged like you, Princess.”

Clarke’s eyes turned to slits. He did not just go there. “I could report you, you know? For harassment.”

“Seriously?” He questioned, rolling his eyes and letting out a humorless chuckle. Clarke crossed her arms over her chest, and his expression became a glare. “Yeah, just like I could report _you_ for your time at the club last night.”

Now it was Clarke’s time to roll her eyes. That was as weak a threat as any. Exposing Clarke meant exposing Octavia, and she was confident in the belief that he would never do that to his sister. Plus, she didn’t even _do_ anything last night. Bellamy was the only bartender in the nightclub, and he had pissed her off too much before she even got around to ordering a drink.

“You don’t intimidate me,” Clarke said calmly, looking him in the eye. 

“We’ll see about that,” Bellamy replied, smirking. 

Before Clarke could come back with another retort, another voice called Bellamy’s name. A guy with light brown skin and short, thick black hair appeared from around the corner. He also wore a janitor’s uniform, and Clarke noticed the light scruff on his chin.

The guy grinned, realizing that his friend was not alone.

“Blake, I don’t recall flirting in the job description,” he joked.

“Shut up, Miller,” Bellamy replied, a deep blush rising to his cheeks. He began pulling Miller by the elbow and walking down the hallway away from Clarke. Looking back at her, Bellamy said, “Next time, watch where you’re walking.”

Clarke huffed, exasperated. “Me? How about _you_ watch where _you’re going—”_

“Whatever the hell you want, Princess.” He flashed her a final grin, and then he and his friend were out of sight.

How the _hell_ did she keep running into that guy? Their small interaction in Grounders was enough to get her blood boiling. And of all places, he worked _here,_ too? Just thinking about him had her seething. She remembered the way he smirked at her, lips twitching up at the ends, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Clarke wished she could have seen how she had glared at him. She had never been intimidating in any place except the art studio. Talent with a paintbrush was irrelevant in this case, though. She needed to put this guy in his place. For a college janitor who doubles as a bartender, he had no reason to have so much arrogance. She would have to up her game somehow, though she had no clue how that should be done. Clarke was determined that the next time she saw Bellamy, she would let him know where he stands.

Once in the studio, Clarke placed her supplies by her easel and sighed heavily, running her hands through her hair. Why was she getting so worked up over this guy? She could not understand what it was that had her so heated. 

The run-in had left Clarke in a sour mood for the entire class. A few times, Octavia looked over at her roommate, noticing her frustration. At one point, she finally spoke up.

“What happened?” Octavia said, taking her eyes off the still life and focus on her friend. “You’re as pissed off as a damn bull, and you were not like this when I last saw you.”

“I’m fine, O.”

“Yeah, and I’m not hungover,” she said sarcastically.

“Damn it,” Clarke cursed, noticing that the proportions of her painting were off. Again. This was the third time she would have to redo this still life. Frustrated, she aggressively painted over the canvas with white.

“What the hell is up with you, Clarke?”

Clarke sighed. “I’m just…tired, okay? Can’t I be tired?”

Octavia looked at her skeptically. “I don’t think that’s it.”

“God, Octavia, could you just drop it?”

Octavia’s lips pressed into a hard line, and she turned her body to face her canvas. “Whatever,” she replied, not looking at Clarke.

The two didn't talk for the remainder of the class. When Mr. Jaha dismissed the class, Clarke was immediately up and out of the room. She practically ran out of there. When she reached her dorm, she hurriedly undressed and got in the shower. This was one of the few places that she knew no one could bother her.

She had just begun the lathering process and was combing her fingers through her soapy hair when the door to the small bathroom flung open. Clarke yelped, instinctively covering her self with the shower curtain.

“Did I do something to you?” Octavia asked. There was a genuine concern in her voice that Clarke may have softened to if she weren't clinging to a shower curtain. “Like, last night—I don’t remember much of it. I know there was a guy…Lee, or Len, or…um…” Octavia closed her eyes, motioning her hand in front of her as she tried to remember.

“Lincoln,” Clarke said.

“Lincoln! Yes, that’s it. Was it something I did with him? Did we…no, I’m _sure_ I would remember that.” Octavia drifted off, trying to recall exactly what she had done with the beautiful stranger she had met last night.

The warm water was not going to last forever, and Clarke had not even gotten around to washing the shampoo out of her hair. She pulled the shower curtain tighter to her body, and looked Octavia in the eye.

“I need you to get out of the bathroom.”

Octavia didn’t budge.

“ _Please,_ ” Clarke said, exasperated. 

“I’ll leave once you admit what’s bothering you,” Octavia responded, arms crossed.

Clarke felt like screaming. What was it that these damn Blakes didn’t understand? She just wanted to be _left alone._ Was that too much to ask?

In defeat, Clarke looked at Octavia and glared. “Do you really want to know?”

Octavia nodded, as though saying, _That’s the point, you idiot.”_

“Your brother is an asshole.”

“My brother?” Octavia’s brows knitted in confusion. She was clearly not expecting that response. “How do you know Bellamy?”

“He was the bartender at Grounders,” Clarke told her. “He’s also one of the school janitors.”

“Custodians,” Octavia corrected.

Clarke brushed it off. “Anyway, he is rude and condescending, and somehow he keeps managing to show up when I don’t expect him. And he calls me Princess.” Clarke got particularly angry thinking about the pet name he had given her. “Not to mention that he made me late for studio today.” 

Rather than waiting for an explanation, Octavia laughed, startling Clarke. 

“Yeah, he can be a brat sometimes.”

“A _brat_?”Clarke repeated. “What an understatement. Oh!” she said, remembering Bellamy’s request from the night before. “I forgot to tell you to call him. Shit.”

Octavia made no move to call her brother

“You don’t seem concerned at all,” Clarke observed.

“Let him sweat a little,” Octavia said with a smirk. Oddly, Clarke was beginning to see a resemblance between her and her brother. “He can think I’m dead in a ditch somewhere.”

Clarke started laughing, but then said, “I need to shower. Get out!” She splashed some water at her roommate, who yelped and shielded herself with her arms.

“Whatever you say, _Princess,_ ” Octavia said, winking. Her teasing had just the effect on Clarke that she intended. “Alright, _alright!”_ Octavia laughed when she was hit with more water, and she began backing out of the bathroom. “I’m done.”

She shut the door behind her, and Clarke was finally alone again. She released the curtain she had been clutching and leaned back against the tile of the tub, closing her eyes and exhaling deeply. Clarke made a mental not to start locking the bathroom door from now on.

**Author's Note:**

> WOO! First chapter down, plenty more to go. I'm pretty excited about this fic.


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